


All the Wonder that would be

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-17
Updated: 2005-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith's running away from her past. She meets her future. Back-up fic for the Escape from L.A. ficathon</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Wonder that would be

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

A big thank you to Karabair who did a wonderful beta job in record time. She made my Faith sound less like Wesley. *g*

NOTES: Written as a back-up fic for the Escape from LA ficathon. Crayonbreakygal requested Wes/Faith – not too angsty.   
Her four requirements were: a motorcycle, a cake, a cat and a picnic. I managed to mention all of those. I did my best to avoid the angst, but it crept in a little. Title and quote from Tennyson. It's rather long - 6000 word

_“For I dipped into the Future, far as human eye could see; saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.”  
Alfred Lord Tennyson._

****

All the Wonder that would be

Faith dropped the empty can of spaghetti into the trash, and stared at the thin slit on her thumb where the ragged edge of the tin had had coaxed a trickle of blood. She lifted it to her mouth and tasted salt and iron; tried to figure what the hell it was tasted so good that they killed for it.

She’d better wash it, put a band-aid on it or something. She’d managed to outrun him this far, but as far as he was concerned, an open wound was an invitation to dinner. He’d already had the appetizer back in Boston. 

She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes roughly. No point in crying over spilt blood. She went over to the basin, ran her hand under the faucet till the cut ran clear, then rifled through her holdall till she found gauze and tape. That was Helen’s doing. She always made sure Faith had “a rudimentary first aid kit’ along with the stakes and knives. For all the good it had done.

She’d just sat back down on the stained coverlet, and was wrapping the dressing around the cut when there was a knock at the motel room door. 

Shit. He’d found her.

She bit her lip, tried to remember back to Helen’s lectures on vampire habits and rules of behaviour. They couldn’t come in uninvited, but she wasn’t sure if that applied to motel rooms. It wasn’t like she owned the room, or had even paid for it, but for now the door seemed to be holding. Maybe she could just stake him while he was standing there, waiting to be let in.

She lifted two stakes, weighing them carefully to find the heaviest, then drew back the bolt on the door. Then she swung it open suddenly, stake poised to strike at chest level.

“Argh!” There was high-pitched yell of terror, and she was dimly aware of a tall, thin and distinctly non-threatening form toppling backwards onto the dust.

The non-vampire got to his feet shakily, then began to brush his palms down his jacket in a vain attempt to remove the layer of red dust that now coated his clothes.

“Excellent! I’m glad to see you’re at the ready. Miss Sharpe clearly trained you well.” He put a hand up to straighten his glasses, which had been knocked at an angle when he fell. “Preparation is a bit of a watchword of mine.”

Faith just stared at him, her mouth open in an expression that was somewhere between amusement and disbelief. 

“I’m terribly sorry, how dreadfully rude of me.” He looked down at his palms, then reached into the pocket at the top of his jacket and plucked at a square of white fabric. Faith felt her eyebrows lift as she watched the man calmly wipe his hands with the handkerchief. He reached forward and offered her his hand. 

“You must be Faith. I’m Pryce. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” He leaned in closer, almost conspiratorially. “I’m your new Watcher.” 

*~*~*~*

He’d got to be kidding her.

The Pryce guy was balanced on the edge of the chair, his back straight, his knees drawn together tightly as if he was sitting to attention. Even with the light coating of dust covering his suit, he seemed totally out of place in the shabby motel room. He looked like he’d be more at home in a library, or maybe a museum. Faith leaned back on the bed and considered him.

Definitely an absent-minded professor, she decided, when he whipped off his glasses and began to polish them frantically. Although he didn’t look old enough to be a professor, when you saw him without the glasses. He looked younger than Helen, and she’d only been thirty. She reached into her bag. 

“Wanna beer?” 

The look on his face was priceless, and that thought made want her want to giggle.

“Faith! You must be aware that the legal age for the consumption of alcohol in this country is twenty-one.”

She grinned and cracked the can of Bud. “Guess you’re even younger than you look, then, Watcher boy.”

Pryce made a noise that she swore sounded like _harrumph_ , then blushed and began to stammer. 

“I-I’m…that’s n-not…I-I mean…” He trailed off, making strangled little noises of outrage in the back of his throat.

“Relax, Watcher boy.” She’d noticed that he’d flushed a deep red when she called him that before, and was pleased to see that it had the same effect again. 

“Faith. It’s really not appropriate for you to address me thus!” He replaced his glasses and drew his shoulders back even further, until it looked like his spine might snap under the strain. “Mr Wyndam-Pryce, or perhaps Wesley, if you prefer. I know you Americans don’t like to stand on ceremony.”

“Yes, Mr Wyndam-Pryce, sir.” She gave him a mock salute, pointedly leaving her middle finger extended when she snapped her hand back down again.

“There’s no need for that sort of rudeness.” Pryce’s lips thinned, and he tried to glare sternly over the top of his glasses, which just made her flop back on the bed, giggling helplessly. When she was sure the laughter had finally died down, she sat back up and wiped her eyes. 

Pryce was no longer sitting straight in the chair. It was as if someone had removed the coat hanger from the back of his coat; his shoulders were slumped forward glumly. 

“Look, Faith. We seem to have got off on the wrong foot.” Even his voice sounded different, less nasal, now that he was unsure of himself. “I’m not the enemy, you know. I’m here to help you.”

Faith eyed him critically. Helen had been there to help her. And look how that had turned out. 

“Listen, Watcher –“ she caught herself this time “- Wes. I appreciate the sentiment, really I do, but I’m fine. You should go on back to the mother country and tell them I don’t need any help.”

“I’m sorry, Faith. I can’t do that. I’m your Watcher now. You may not like that, or me, but I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other. Might as well make the best of it.” He looked up, and she was surprised to see a hint of smile at the corner of his mouth. “What do you think?”

She rolled her eyes hard enough to give herself a headache, then sighed deeply, just to make sure he understood her position. “I think I’m making a big mistake.” She lifted her holdall and zipped it closed. “You can start by paying the motel bill.”

*~*~*~*

“You couldn’t have picked something, oh, I don’t know, a bit less of a dorkmobile.” Faith surveyed the interior of the Ford Escort with distaste. 

Pryce did the lips thing again, making them into a thin line. “This was the best value car that the hire company had to offer. Contrary to your expectations, a Watcher’s salary is rather meagre. We’re required to take on employment not only as a cover, but also to provide the basic means to live.”

‘So we head to Sunnydale, see if McDonald’s is hiring?” Faith snickered quietly.

“Is that a local firm?” Pryce sounded pitifully hopeful. “Only I’m quite well qualified in several languages and well used to translation work…”

“You’re serious. McDonald’s – Golden Arches – Big Mac?” Pryce looked bemused. “Burgers – McNuggets – any of this ringing a bell?”

The lips pursed this time. “Oh, how very amusing. A fast food outlet of some sort.” 

“Jeez, Watcher boy, where’d they lock you up for the last twenty years?” She twisted in her seat to stare at him.

Pryce’s fingers clenched the steering wheel a little tighter. “I’ve been training to become a Watcher. It’s fairly intensive; leaves little time for casual leisure activities.”

“It’s called eating. Most people think of it as a basic necessity rather than a leisure activity.”

He didn’t answer this time, just grimaced sourly at her. 

She picked at the grey plastic trim that ran along the top of the door. “So, what made you apply to become a Watcher? It wasn’t for the money, right?” She flashed him a conspiratorial grin, to let him know she was only teasing.

Pryce seemed a bit bemused. “You don’t ‘apply’ to become a Watcher. It’s a calling, a vocation; something you’re born to.”

Faith nodded, her fingers working steadily at the trim. “Like the slaying gig, right? The Chosen One.” If she closed her eyes she could almost see Helen, perched atop a gravestone, calmly revealing her destiny after Faith had despatched her first vampire.

Pryce blushed again. “Oh, no, nothing as significant as that. More of a family tradition, really.”

“Right, I get it. Daddy was a Watcher; Grandpa was a Watcher, that kind of thing.”

“That sort of thing.” Pryce’s voice was softer now, and he turned to her, just as she raised her head to look at him. Their eyes met, briefly, and Faith felt a little shiver run through her, a moment of understanding; recognition. 

Then Pryce looked back to the road. “Please don’t pick at that trim, Faith,” he instructed firmly, his tone back to pompous Watcher boy. “I really can’t afford to lose my deposit on the car.”

*~*~*~*

“You were saying something about a deposit?”

Faith brushed the fine dusting of glass from her hair, then stretched her arms out tentatively. Having decided that nothing was actually broken, she looked over at Pryce, who was leaning weakly against the steering wheel, a trickle of blood making its way down the side of his face. 

“You okay, Watcher boy?” She tried to keep her tone light. 

“Oh, yes, absolutely bloody wonderful.” Well, he couldn’t be badly hurt if he was capable of that level of sarcasm. He glared at her in accusation. “What in God’s name possessed you to grab the steering wheel like that?”

“Didn’t you see it?” She gestured to the empty road beyond the shattered windshield.

“What? An imaginary truck? An invisible demon?” He sounded really annoyed now, and she felt a tiny stab of something that might possibly have been guilt.

“There was a cat.”

The outraged screech of indignation was impressively high-pitched. “A cat? You made us crash for a bloody cat!?”

“We’re both okay, that’s what counts, right?” She tried a conciliatory smile. It didn’t work.

“The car’s a write-off. The Council will take it out of my salary, which I haven’t even got yet. And then they’ll probably fire me. If I’m lucky. ” He leaned his forehead against the wheel. “All things considered, a fatal injury seems infinitely preferable.” 

“Come on, Wes, things aren’t so bad. We didn’t kill the cat. That’s gotta be good luck.”

“For the cat, certainly.” But she could hear the tiniest hint of a smile behind the sarcasm. 

“Can you walk?” She brushed her hand over his thigh, and he jerked suddenly under her touch, then howled as his knee came into contact with the gear stick. 

“Don’t do that!” he hissed, then let his breath out in a long sigh. “I’m fine. Just don’t _poke_ at me.”

She raised her palms in surrender. “Fine. No poking. But we should make tracks.”

He nodded. “Agreed. We certainly don’t want to be caught out of doors after nightfall,” he said, in a melodramatic stage whisper. 

She rolled her eyes at him, then shoved her elbow against her door. It gave way with a splintering crack, then hung forlornly by one hinge.

Wesley gave another long-suffering sigh, and covered his face with his hand. 

Faith ignored him, and got out of car, lifting her holdall out of the trunk. Then she hauled out a battered leather suitcase bearing the gold initials W.W.P. 

“Jeez, you got a body in this, Wes?” She threw the case down at the side of the road. Pryce emerged from the driver’s door, limping a little, but otherwise relatively unharmed.

“Thank you, and no. It contains a few reference books, that’s all.” He lifted the case with a little grunt of effort. “Well, come along then, Faith. No dawdling.”

She swung her own bag on her pack with ease, then flashed him her most annoyingly cheerful grin. 

“Lead the way, Watcher boy.”

*~*~*~*

Wesley was scowling, his arms folded over his chest. He was in his shirt sleeves; the smart suit jacket discarded about six miles back. He glared disapprovingly at her tight tank top.

“I don’t think we should accept this lift.”

“Ain’t no ‘we’ about it, boy.” The driver of the pick-up spat a mouthful of tobacco-coloured spit onto the ground. “I’m asking the lady.” Faith almost choked at that. “So, how about it, Missy. You want a ride?”

She wasn’t stupid, the leer in his voice was matched by the gaze he levelled at her chest. “Sure. We’re headed to California. How far you going?” 

“This is your lucky day. I’m going all the way.” _Yeah, right_. She swung her bag up, then turned back to Pryce. 

“You coming?”

“Faith, I really don’t think…”

“Yeah you do. Way too much. Loosen up, Watcher boy. Live a little.”

The lips tightened again. “Faith, I’m warning you, this is not a good idea.”

“Ditch the dumbass, Missy.” The driver put his hand out to help her up. Faith looked back to Pryce, who was still standing at the side of the road, his face creased with anger. 

“Last chance, Wes.” He remained stubbornly silent, and Faith shrugged regretfully. “Okay, then. See you in Sunnydale.” 

She closed the door of the truck and they pulled away from the roadside.

“Made the right choice, there.” The driver ran grease-stained fingers through his lank hair, tucking a loose strand into the rubber band that held his straggly ponytail in place. “Not your type at all.”

“And you are?” Faith couldn’t decide if she should be amused or offended by his assertion.

“More than Mr Armani back there.” He was gazing lecherously at her tank top. Faith slid her hand into the back pocket of her jeans, checking for her switchblade. 

“Just keep your eyes on the road, bud.”

He faced the windshield again, but reached out to stroke her shoulder with a callused palm. She laid her own hand over his and casually bent his middle finger back until she felt it snap with a satisfyingly loud crack.

The squeal of pain was even more high-pitched than Pryce’s had been. He snatched his wounded hand away, cradling it against his chest while he swore between sobs.

“Fucking psycho bitch!” He made a forlorn attempt to grab at her hair with his good hand, but an unexpected punch to his lower jaw knocked him sideways, and he slumped heavily over the wheel.

“Unhand her, you vile cur!” 

Pryce was clinging to the driver’s door, his glasses dangling at an odd angle, his previously perfect hair standing up in wild little tufts, his tie flipped over his shoulder. 

The truck had careered off the road again, but Faith managed to wrest the wheel back from the semi-conscious driver, and jam on the handbrake before she was two for two on motor slayage. Then she leaned over and lifted the driver by the hair, casually dropping his face onto the dashboard. He twitched, then gave a deep groan and settled into oblivion.

Faith leaned over him and offered Pryce a hand. He grabbed it desperately, then climbed down onto solid ground.

“Vile cur?” Faith tried to hide the snigger, really she did, but he looked so out of place. His previously immaculate shirt was smeared with grease stains, and the cuffs were unbuttoned and hanging loosely about his wrists. He was fiddling with his glasses, trying to set them back on the bridge of his nose, but one of the legs seemed to be bent out of shape. 

She slid out of her seat and came round the side of the pick-up. “Thanks for the rescue, Wes, but how did you catch us up?”

He pointed to the back of the pick-up and she whistled in admiration.

“Course, not really necessary, y’know? Slayer strength, remember?”

Pryce paused in his increasingly futile attempts to flatten his windblown hair, looking crestfallen. “Of course. Do forgive me. I was simply trying to defend your honour.”

“Appreciate the sentiment.” Faith looked down at her Docs. She certainly wasn’t going to admit to him how much that meant to her. She couldn’t ever remember a time when a guy had stood up for her. Most of them had been like the sleaze who lay sprawled over the dash, all over her for whatever they could get. 

She reached over and tapped his grazed knuckles gently. “Nice moves, Watcher boy. Where d’you learn to throw a punch?”

Pryce did that instant blush thing, and she could have sworn he shuffled his feet. “I b-boxed a little - at Oxford. Bantamweight.” 

“You’re a man of hidden talents.” Faith began to haul the body out of the cab, dumping him on the ground. He moaned softly, stirred back to consciousness. She drew back her foot to kick him in the gut, but stopped at the sound of Wesley’s voice.

“Faith.” He spoke quietly, but there was a firmness that she hadn’t heard before. “Step back.” For some reason she wasn’t quite sure of, she obeyed.

Pryce leaned over and put his lips very close to the man’s ear, keeping his voice low. “You’re a very lucky man. You see, this young lady is a rather disturbed individual. Escaped from a lunatic asylum.”

Faith gave him an obligingly maniacal stare. 

“She’s labouring under the delusion that you’re a creature of the night. A vampire.” Faith slipped a stake out of her jeans pocket and twirled it through her fingers. The truck driver whimpered, his fingers scrabbling in the dust as he tried to crawl away from her.

“I keep telling her there’s no such thing, but will she listen?” Faith shook her head vehemently. “If I hadn’t come along when I did, who knows what might have happened.” 

Pryce glanced up, still immersed in character. “Now, now, Faith. We don’t hurt humans. Remember?” 

Faith pouted convincingly. “Just a little bit, please?” 

Pryce pretended to consider. “Well, maybe just a little…” 

The truck driver hauled himself to his feet and retreated towards the truck. “You’re both fucking psycho!”

Faith hefted Pryce’s case out of the truckbed, as the driver climbed into the cab. The engine spluttered into life, and the truck pulled away with a teeth-gritting screech of brakes. 

Faith looked over at Pryce, who was on his knees, giggling with helpless laughter. “Man of hidden talents,” she managed to gasp, before succumbing to the infectious hysteria.

*~*~*~*

“I’m hungry.” 

“Well, the sooner we get to back to civilization, the sooner you can eat.” Pryce swiped his forearm across his brow, and readjusted his glasses. He continued to trudge along the side of the road, trying to counterbalance the weight of his suitcase by dropping his shoulder, lending him a rather lopsided air.

Faith dropped her bag and planted her hands on her hips. ”I’m hungry now. Maybe eating really is a leisure activity for you, but I’m starving.”

Pryce gave a deep sigh, and set the case down and consulted his watch. “We’ve only got an hour till the sun sets. I’d like to try and find a motel before night fall.”

Faith was already wandering into the wooded area beyond the road. “Let’s face it, Wes; we’re not going to get under cover tonight. We should set up camp.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Pryce dragged his suitcase behind him. “Now, about food.” He looked at her speculatively. “If you could lend me your belt, I can fashion a simple trap. We could catch a small vole, or some such, and roast it over the camp fire… now, something for bait…”

Faith unzipped her bag and emptied out the family size pack of Doritos, some Twinkies and a pile of candy. “I think I’ll skip the roast vole.”

Pryce just stared at the bounty, his mouth hanging open. Faith grinned. “What? You got your two basic food groups right here. Savoury and sweet.”

“Oh.” He nodded automatically, then smiled suddenly, his whole face lighting up, making him look years younger. “I think I’ve just the thing for our picnic.

He knelt down and fiddled with the combination look of the case, then unzipped the sides. He rifled through a few shirts and several layers of books, then pulled out a square package wrapped in brown paper. He held it aloft, grinning like an idiot. “There – my red cross parcel.”

“Huh?” Faith sat down under the tree next to him. 

Pryce was already unwrapping the package. “Sorry, bit of a family joke, I suppose. Back when I was at school, my mum used to send me a red cross parcel each term.” The final layer of greaseproof paper was stripped back to reveal a fruit cake, topped with pale golden icing. “My favourite – Dundee Cake.”

“Translation for the non Brit?”

Pryce was already picking at a chunk of the topping. “It’s made with dried fruit and nuts, topped with marzipan. Actually it should be topped with whole almonds, but mum knows how much I love home-made marzipan.”

Faith felt something tighten in her chest then, hearing the wistful sigh in Pryce’s voice as he remembered his mum’s home cooking. He was attempting to prise the cake apart, fairly unsuccessfully. Faith flicked open her switchblade and handed it to him.

“Thanks. “ He began to carve off a hunk of cake. “It seemed almost sacrilegious not to cut it properly.”

She accepted the offered slice and took a bite. “Oh God…”

Pryce looked up in shock. ‘You don’t like it?”

“No, god, no. I love it. It’s like… nothing I’ve ever tasted.” She bit into the cake again, moaning softly. “It’s kinda addictive, y’know? How did you ever stop at one slice?”

Pryce blushed, but there was a big grin on his face. “I didn’t. I remember this one cake she sent to the Academy – my friend Nigel and I sneaked out for a midnight feast and ate the whole cake in one sitting.”

Faith was already carving off another huge slice. “Makes sense to me.” She gestured with the knife. “More?”

Pryce crammed the last of his slice into his mouth and nodded vigorously. 

*~*~*~*

“Boarding school, huh? What was that like?” Faith sat with her back against a tree, while Pryce poked the little camp fire with a stick. She had to hand it to him; he’d been pretty good at setting the fire. 

Pryce leaned back, the flickering of the flames playing across his face in the dark. “It was alright, I suppose. I was a bit of a swot…” he caught her look of confusion “– a nerd, you’d call it. I enjoyed studying.”

“That figures.” But she said it kindly. “You didn’t get homesick?”

Pryce hunched forward, so that the flames reflected in his glasses, effectively obscuring his eyes. “Not really.” He cleared his throat. “As I said, I enjoyed the work. And I had some good friends.” There was a something in his voice then, a tone of finality, as if he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He sat back again. “What about your school?”

She gave a short laugh, devoid of any amusement. “Not really big on education, Watcher boy. Graduating class from the school of hard knocks.” He gave her a look, but she ignored him. “So where d’you learn to do the camp fire trick?”

Pryce took the hint and let it drop. “Scouts. We had a pack at school.” He did a funny little salute thing with his first two fingers. “Be prepared, and all that.”

Faith grinned. “That’s where you learned to trap voles, right?”

Pryce gave a sheepish smile. “Probably wouldn’t have caught anything anyway. I was never much use at tracking and hunting. Bit soft, I’m afraid. I just wanted to let them go free. Or keep them as pets.”

“I always wanted a pet.” She twirled a stake through her fingers. “Second foster home I was in had this old dog. Rebel. Used to just lie on the porch all day snoring.” Faith closed her eyes, remembering the smell of damp dog, the weight of his head on her legs as he curled up beside her. She had stroked his soft fur almost reverently, overwhelmed by such blind unconditional love. She remembered the day she’d had to go back to the home, pressing her face into the thick fur to stifle unwanted tears.

She was suddenly aware of Pryce watching her. “Dumb dog,” she whispered, blinking at smoke from the camp fire. 

He turned away to give the fire another poke, allowing her a moment to swipe her hand across her eyes. Then he looked up. “Perhaps we should think about getting some sleep.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“Who’s taking first watch?” He had opened his case again, and was going through the contents. He pulled out a folded towel and what looked like a small knife.

Faith made a grab for the towel and tucked it under her head. “Like it says on the tin, Watcher boy.”

Pryce gave a pretty unconvincing sigh, and settled back against the tree, fiddling with the blade. “Very well. I’ll wake you in two hours.” He looked over the top of his glasses at her. “Do try not to snore.”

*~*~*~*

She was vaguely aware of an annoying buzzing in her ear. She reached up and slapped it away with her palm. 

“Ow!” The buzzing became a squeak. “Faith!” 

She opened her eyes to see Pryce scrabbling on the ground for his glasses. “Sorry.” She pulled herself to a sitting position. Pryce replaced his glasses and put his finger over his lip.

“Wassup?” she murmured, scratching her arm sleepily.

He didn’t speak, but pointed back towards the road. She could see lights, and heard quiet laughter, or possibly growling. 

“Vamps?” she mouthed, accompanying it with a claw hand gesture. Pryce nodded, his face seeming suddenly unnaturally pale. 

She slipped her necklace from under her tank top and grabbed his hand, forcing it over the cross at the end of the chain. He grasped it and nodded in approval. “Good girl,” he mouthed.

“How many?” She reached into her bag and pulled out a handful of stakes. 

Pryce held up four fingers.

Faith gave a short nod. “Good odds,” she whispered. “Four against two.” She handed him a stake, and then realized that he was trembling. “Hey, Watcher boy. Easy.” 

He took a deep breath. “S-sorry. Just a bit nervous…”

Shit. She should have guessed. “First time?”

He half-nodded. “Outside of training.” 

Shit. 

“Okay, that’s okay.” She motioned for him to follow her lead. He swallowed hard, then fell into step behind her. Faith opened her bag and pulled out two more stakes, shoving one in her jeans pocket and tossing the other to Pryce, who fumbled for a moment, but finally managed to catch it. 

“Sorry,” he mouthed. He looked into her bag. “May I…?” 

She shrugged and nodded, a little surprised by his choice of weapon. He lifted a smallish crossbow – not one of her favourites – she’d always preferred the up close and personal approach to slaying, but Helen had insisted she at least learn to use it. 

Pryce checked it swiftly; the trembling in his hands stilled as his fingers performed what looked like an automatic task. Maybe he wasn’t a complete novice after all.

He’d just finished loading it when her knees were kicked from under her. She went down heavily, swearing at her own stupidity. This was clearly a planned assault. She looked up to see Pryce down too, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. Shit.

She was ready the next time. Caught the boot which was about to crush her head and pushed up as hard as she could, using the vampire’s weight against him. Once she flipped him, it was easy to lean over and shove her stake into his chest. He crumbled beneath her, as she straightened to see where the other three were. Pryce was half-wrestling with the second vampire, in a vain attempt to keep him away from his neck. Faith swung her foot between them and they disengaged immediately, leaving the way clear for Faith to stake number two.

“Th-thanks.” Pryce was breathing heavily. He leaned over for a moment to recover himself.

Faith was already preparing for the next assault. The third vampire came from behind a tree, and smiled at her, then went straight for Pryce. 

“Hey! You got no manners. What happened to ‘ladies first’?” Faith called out.

“Lady?” The voice sounded half-amused, sneering, and it chilled her to the core. “I knew you were a fool, Slayer, but I never thought you were delusional.”

She remembered the last time she’d heard that voice. She’d been hearing it in her nightmares for weeks. _“An eye for an eye, my dear.”_

Kakistos.

“Your Watcher, now there was a lady.” He stepped forward, and the moonlight glinted off his pale face, illuminating the jagged scar that ran from his eyebrow to his cheek. The scar she’d carved into his face with the enchanted dagger. “She wouldn’t scream, you know, not even when I cut out her eye.”

Faith staggered, felt the stake slip from her grasp. She was vaguely aware of Pryce and the other vampire somewhere off to one side, but she was transfixed in horror. 

“I see you’ve got yourself a new one.” He gestured to his left and Faith was finally able to look over to where Pryce and the vamp were struggling. To be honest, Pryce was doing most of the struggling; the vamp easily held him in a vicious headlock. 

“Now then, Slash, take it easy. I don’t want him harmed.” Kakistos grinned at Faith. “Not yet.”

He lifted his grotesquely cloven fingers and something glinted in the moonlight. “Remember this, Slayer?”

There was a gasp of recognition from Pryce. “The Amalfi dagger.” 

“Ah, a clever boy. I wonder if your little Slayer here has told you the full story of her Cruciamentum.” He paused for effect. “No? It’s a wonderful tale, full of cowardice and betrayal.”

“No!” She heard herself scream. She closed her eyes and saw Helen’s face, as she last remembered it, just before she had turned and run. She would never forget the look in Helen’s eyes then; a look of such serenity, understanding, forgiveness. 

Kakistos was right. She had betrayed her Watcher, her friend, the only person in her life who had ever cared about her.

“Faith.” Pryce’s voice was quiet, but she could hear the tremor of barely controlled terror beneath it. “The first rule of slaying is don’t die.” He gulped a breath. “You didn’t die.”

She sobbed helplessly. “I didn’t even try to save her…” 

“You didn’t die.” Pryce repeated, and suddenly twisted in the vampire’s grip, thrusting something into his face. The vamp gave a shrill high-pitched shriek and clutched at his eyes as the holy water took full effect. Pryce sidestepped to the left, then shoved the stake into the vampire’s chest, screaming wildly as his opponent turned to dust.

Faith blinked and straightened her shoulders. Kakistos was already advancing, his permanent game face twisted into a sickening grin, the dagger poised in his cloven hand. 

“You think you can defeat me, little girl? You are nothing but a coward; a traitor.”

“You’re wrong.” Pryce’s voice was eerily calm. “She’s Faith, and she’s a vampire slayer.” He raised the crossbow and fired, the bolt piercing the vampire’s chest. Kakistos looked down at the arrow embedded in his ancient flesh.

“Your puny toys cannot kill me, boy.” He pulled the arrow out, but staggered a little, clearly wounded.

“The knife, Faith. Use the knife,” Pryce whispered frantically.

Faith took advantage of the vampire’s weakened state, and seized the dagger, plunging it into the hole left by the wooden bolt. Kakistos gave a scream of despair, then his flesh began to sizzle, burning off layer by layer, till only his bones were left to crumble into dust.

There was silence, then Faith dropped the dagger and fell to her knees in the dust. She bent her head and wept quietly for Helen; the first tears she had shed since her Watcher’s death.

*~*~*~*

“You are not serious.” 

“Totally.” Faith looked over at him. “Come on, Watcher boy, live a little.”

“Remember what happened the last time you said that.” He did the stern face thing, and she tried very hard not to laugh. “Anyway, I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Faith looked at the brightening horizon. “It’s almost day.” 

“So it is.” Pryce bit his lip pensively. “I really think we ought to try to get a lift.”

Faith mimicked his stern face back at him. “Remember what happened the last time we did that?”

“Are you mocking me?” She could tell he wasn’t really angry, though, the way his eyebrow lifted on one side, a hint of a smile playing over his lips.

“Hell, yes.” Faith lifted the suitcase and strapped it onto the bike which had been abandoned by the vamps, then swung her leg over the seat. 

“As long as we’re clear on that.” Pryce gave a decisive nod. “We do have a long journey ahead of us.” 

“And the perfect mode of transport right here.” She patted the seat suggestively. “Where are we going?”

He looked surprised. “I thought we were headed to Sunnydale.”

“Why?” Faith leaned back and looked at him.

Pryce’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m supposed to go there. I’m to replace the Watcher who was fired.”

Faith frowned. “They won’t want you. That other Slayer? He’s her Watcher. Like Helen was mine. It wouldn’t have mattered if your stupid Council had fired her, she was still my Watcher. Firing her wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

Pryce’s face was bright red. “Right, yes, I – I understand.” He looked as if he’d been kicked.

Faith held up her hand. “Anyway, I’m not so big with the sharing.” She enjoyed the look of confusion on his face, which slowly gave way to astonishment. 

“You mean…?”

Faith gave a determined grin. “Council assholes better not try and fire you, Watcher boy.”

“Faith!” he spluttered, torn between joy, gratitude, and the desire to scold her. “You mustn’t speak of the Council in that manner. It’s really not appropriate. If we’re going to work together you’re going to have to show some respect, be prepared for some discipline.”

“Oh, discipline. Sounds kinda fun. Didn’t know you liked it kinky, Watcher boy.” She loved the look of hapless terror on his face. “It’s always the quiet ones.” 

She tossed him a helmet, then patted the seat behind her. “Hop on board, Wes.”

He rolled his eyes to the heavens, then swung his leg over the bike. “I must be mad.”

Faith nodded her agreement. “Probably. So, where are we heading?”

Pryce threaded his arms around her, and she was briefly surprised by the strength of his grip. Then he leaned forward, whispered into her ear.

“Into the future.”

Faith kicked down and the engine roared into life. Right. She wondered exactly what sort of future she was letting herself in for, with a stolen motorbike, an open road, and a bumbling young watcher who was currently clinging to her waist for dear life. 

“Faith!” he shouted over the idling of the engine. “Is everything alright?”

“Five by five, Watcher boy.“


End file.
